Harlequin Historical July 2020 - Box Set 1 of 2

by Virginia Heath

  ‘But you weren’t.’

  ‘I would have!’

  ‘I was tired of waiting,’ he growled, pushing the doors open, early morning sunlight washing over them both.

  The carriage was just outside, two shiny black horses, a driver and footman. When he saw Lachlan approaching, the footman scrambled down the side of the carriage and held the door for them. Lachlan deposited Penelope inside and she moved to the far corner, putting as much space between the two of them as possible. ‘You were waiting for all of ten seconds,’ she said.

  ‘No,’ he said, his voice like a stranger’s. ‘I’ve been waiting for fifteen years. I will wait no longer.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Penny curled deep into the corner of the closed carriage. And she looked across the space—not quite enough space for her peace of mind—at the man who was now her husband.

  This man who was a stranger.

  She was alone with him. She had never been alone with a man who was not a relative in her entire life. And yet, she was ensconced in this carriage, with this man. Panic clawed at the walls of her chest and she did her best to suppress it.

  Fought to envision that little jewellery box. To find a way to lock her panic in there.

  It was the vastness of the unknown.

  Of what lay ahead with the wedding night itself and…how that was changed by him being the groom.

  He was untamed. So very male. Foreign and large and utterly savage.

  Everything that lay ahead of her now was unknown.

  And that was when it occurred to her. ‘Did you bring anything from my father’s house?’

  He looked at her, his green eyes cool and filled with disdain. ‘It is unnecessary,’ he said. ‘Anything you need will be provided for you.’

  ‘But my… My mother’s jewellery box. I want to bring it with me.’

  ‘It is not my concern, lass. I’m hardly going to make a journey back to your father’s house for a trinket.’

  ‘That trinket is the only thing I have of hers,’ she said, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. She wasn’t afraid she would cry. There was no purpose in crying. It would accomplish nothing. She had trained herself to keep tears back long ago.

  But her eyes burned and she felt awash in helplessness.

  There was nothing she could do. Nothing to be done, as her father was so fond of saying.

  She was being carried away from everything she had ever known and there was absolutely nothing she could do to fight against it. She couldn’t fight him. And even if she did, there would be nothing left for her to return to. The Duke of Kendal would offer her no shelter. Her father… Her father had been willing to let her reputation burn. She couldn’t go back to him. Her pride prevented it.

  Her fate was tied to Lachlan Bain. He was her only protection now. He was all she had.

  She did not even have her mother’s jewellery box, after all.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘To the Highlands,’ he said, as if the question was the most foolish thing he’d ever heard.

  ‘I didn’t mean in the long term. I meant tonight.’

  Tonight.

  The word echoed inside her and she pushed her feelings of disquiet away.

  How long would he torture her? How long would he draw all this out?

  ‘We’ll head to a coaching inn. I hope you find the carriage to your liking. Because it’s a rather long trip to Scotland.’

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘What I mean to say is, I am aware that it is quite the trip. I’ve never been.’

  ‘I thought your father’s library was sparse on the subject of Scotland.’

  ‘It is. But there is quite a lot of information on carriage routes.’

  ‘How very interesting.’

  ‘It’s not really. But I had exhausted everything else.’

  At least now she had some idea of the road they would travel, the dangers it held and the distance they would traverse. Cold comfort, perhaps, but given all the rest of the unknown that was laid out before her, knowledge of the road felt like no small thing.

  She could feel a gap between them and she had to decide what frightened her more. Being near him, or the sheer scope of all that wasn’t known.

  It was the unknown, she decided. And there was only one way to solve that.

  Questions.

  ‘Do you really not have toast? Because it’s a very simple thing to make. Only you put the bread on a fork and—’

  ‘I’m not confused as to how to warm bread on a fire,’ he said.

  ‘Well. You said you didn’t have it.’

  ‘Yes, and somehow I’ve spent a fair amount of time discussing it.’

  ‘I don’t feel this is an unreasonable amount of time given to the subject.’

  ‘I do.’

  And with that, the subject ended. She was beginning to think he was lying to her about the food.

  ‘There’s no need to be mean,’ she said.

  ‘There’s no need to be nice either.’

  Her lips twitched. Making conversation with him was like trying to talk to a stone. Fortunately, she had quite a bit of practice conversing with stones. Small animals, household staff. A great many things that were not inclined to answer her back.

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ she said. ‘It might make the journey more pleasant.’

  He didn’t respond to that at all. And she found herself gazing out the window, allowing herself to sink into the rhythm of the carriage. It was quite soothing, as long as she didn’t think about where it was carrying her to, and it didn’t take long for her to begin to drift off.

  * * *

  When she awoke, the dark was drawing low outside and the carriage had stopped.

  There was a large, white-stone building bearing a sign that said Old Crown Coaching Inn, but it might as well have simply read: doom. And perhaps that might be seen as a bit dramatic, but Penny’s heart was in her throat and she didn’t feel one could be overly dramatic in such a situation.

  The door to the carriage opened and the footman reached out as if to help her, but Lachlan moved quickly, exiting the carriage. As Lachlan moved, the footman froze, as if he could tell by his master’s bearing that his movements were disapproved of.

  The man moved aside and it was Lachlan who reached his hand out to her.

  She found it nearly impossible to reach her own hand out to meet his. And that was when she found herself gripped around the waist and lowered slowly down to the ground. His strength was overwhelming. She felt engulfed by it, even after such a brief touch. He was so large and broad, and lifting her seemed no more difficult than lifting that injured sparrow from all those years ago.

  She felt a glimmer of hope yet again. And she was as terrified of it as she was in need of it.

  Because perhaps, just perhaps, that boy wasn’t gone after all.

  Because in his strength there was gentleness. Because he had not crushed her in those large hands of his.

  She looked up at him and he looked away.

  She swallowed hard.

  ‘Come, lass,’ he said, making his way towards the door of the inn.

  She followed.

  He issued orders to the innkeeper as if he were still in the army and the man, small and stooped, obeyed as if it were his commission.

  The inn itself was clean, with heavy dark wood tables, filled with people. The beams that ran overhead were the same colour, the darkness lowering the ceiling and giving the place a cosy feel.

  ‘I’ve never stayed in a place like this before.’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘No. I travelled so infrequently. To London occasionally, yes, but it’s only three hours in a carriage, so we never stayed overnight on the road. And when Father wishes to spend time in London we rent a town house.’

&nbs
p; Likely the reason they had not been in a couple of years. Her father wouldn’t have the funds to rent them a place any more.

  The innkeeper led them up a narrow staircase, down the hall, and it was then that the walls began to close in around her. She was headed to a room, a small room, with this very large man and everything was beginning to seem as though it was tilting over on to its side.

  The door to the room opened and against the back wall was a bed that seemed far too small, made of the same heavy wood as everything else in the place. There was also a chair and a small table.

  ‘I will see to my men and the horses,’ Lachlan said. ‘And that you’re brought some dinner.’

  With that, he left the room and she could breathe again.

  Maybe she would get a reprieve tonight.

  Even as the thought entered her mind, she was certain it wasn’t true. Lachlan had no reason to offer reprieve.

  She understood it was the way of things. She’d had a brief, short conversation on the subject with the Duchess, but it hadn’t satisfied her curiosities. Penny had asked her one afternoon. She’d been a bit nervous, but nerves always made words come easier for her.

  The older woman had seemed taken aback for a moment, but then had sat her down and looked at her with kind, grey eyes.

  ‘You were such a small thing when your mother died, weren’t you?’ she’d asked.

  Penny had confirmed it with a mute nod of her head and a pit of disquiet in her stomach.

  ‘She didn’t have the chance to speak to you. To tell you what would be required of a wife.’

  ‘I tried to find out, but the servants wouldn’t answer my questions. There is precious little in books and I’m very curious about—’

  ‘You’ll be fine, my dear,’ she’d said, squeezing Penny’s hand tightly. ‘It is the natural way of the world and while knowledge might do something to ease your nerves, it is not required.’

  ‘Is it not?’ she’d asked, feeling unsettled that the one person she might have been able to question didn’t seem to think Penny needed much in the way of answers. ‘Only I feel that there is so much to learn and I want to know so I can be better prepared.’

  Penny liked to hoard knowledge. It was her one source of power. She felt quite cross at her father for not keeping books on the subject.

  The Duchess had patted Penny’s hand, her expression cool, but the colour in her cheeks had mounted, betraying a small bit of discomfort. ‘Men, well, you know, my dear, men are physical creatures and of course they come to the marriage bed with the benefit of experience.’

  Penny had found that to be a source of deep irritation. But she’d said nothing.

  ‘He will know what to do,’ Her Grace whispered. ‘If you find yourself in distress, simply think of something pleasant to pass the time. You are doing your duty as a wife and that’s a thing to be pleased over. You might think of ways you can rearrange the household, as it will be yours.’

  Penny had not found that at all reassuring.

  She found it even less reassuring now because she could not think of anything pleasant in the presence of Lachlan Bain. There was no household to ponder rearranging. Even if there were, it wouldn’t be enough to blot out his strength and outrageous maleness.

  She hated not having a plan.

  She nearly laughed. What plan could she possibly have? She’d been married off to a man she’d known only as a child. A stranger. She was going to Scotland when she’d been meant to go to the estate down the lane from the one she’d spent her life in.

  She was supposed to be a duchess.

  And now she’d been married off to a…to a barbarian.

  He would claim his husbandly rights and she didn’t know what it would entail. She didn’t know how to manoeuvre herself into an active position in this situation.

  He had all the power. And while enduring was a particular talent of Penny’s…

  She was still utterly terrified.

  She felt vulnerable in a way she hadn’t since childhood. Of all the things she resented, she perhaps resented that most of all.

  She wrung her hands, pacing the room. But then a maid from the kitchen appeared, spiced wine and stew on a tray, which she set down on the table and left with a curtsy.

  Penny found that though she was distressed, she was ravenous, and the stew, which was accompanied by a thick slice of bread, was very welcome indeed.

  But when she was finished eating, it settled in her stomach like lead. She paced around for a moment, not sure what to do, then it occurred to her that she should probably get ready for bed while he was not in the room.

  Of course, she didn’t have anything to sleep in.

  She didn’t have a nightdress and was meant to be sharing a room with a man, and she felt as if she might actually expire from concern.

  She stood there, rooted to the spot. The idea of taking off her dress, of stripping herself down to her chemise and letting her hair loose, knowing he would see her…

  He would see more than that.

  The heavy door to the room opened, this time with no knock, and Lachlan stood there, his massive frame dominating the doorway. On his shoulder, he carried a trunk.

  ‘Tired?’ he asked.

  ‘Just a bit,’ she said, her voice more of a croak.

  She felt as though her feet had been cursed. Transformed into iron weights that kept her fixed to that exact space in the centre of the room.

  When Lachlan entered, she wanted to move away from him, but found she could not.

  ‘I told you, I had some things sent ahead.’ He set the trunk down near her. ‘Clothes for the journey. A nightdress. I assume you’ll be wanting one.’

  ‘I’m quite comfortable at the moment,’ she said, curling her fingers into fists.

  Her dress suddenly felt heavy and ill-fitting, her skin itchy. She was not comfortable in the least. But there was no nightdress, no matter how soft, that would fix her current situation.

  He nodded once. ‘As you wish.’

  With heavy steps he crossed the room and went to stand by the bed, his back to her. Then he began to remove his clothes. The flame from the oil lamp nearest to him flickered, the light touching his muscles as he stripped the white shirt from his body.

  She couldn’t look away.

  She knew that she should. Except…should she? They were married. And this was marriage. That he would remove her dress and he would… He would cover her, the way that she had seen animals do. She shivered, fighting against fear.

  No matter that she had told herself it might not occur, she had known that it would. This bed was a marriage bed by virtue of the fact that they had said vows today. There was no getting around that. She was not a child and she knew the way of things. The way of this.

  She knew the mechanics and purpose, as it applied to animals, and she knew it was much the same way for humans. Though her mind couldn’t make sense of how those things shifted between man and woman, rather than stallion and mare.

  She knew it was a woman’s duty to produce children in a marriage. To be available to her husband in the ways he demanded. She might not know the specifics of those demands, but she knew that much.

  The truth was, a woman in her position was required to be innocent in order to be desirable. In order to be the sort of woman who would be deemed worthy of marrying a man and bearing his children. A woman in her position’s entire life centred on this act. If anyone thought she might have done it without the proper vows being spoken, then her entire life would be ruined. If she failed to secure a husband, then her body would be the currency by which she secured her protector.

  And it was considered inappropriate for her to know the details of the act itself.

  It suddenly seemed desperately and wholly unfair. Had her mother been alive, she would have asked her why it was the way of the world.<
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  But her mother was dead. And as her father was so fond of saying: there was nothing to be done.

  This man was her protector. And this was the cost of that protection.

  But she found she couldn’t simply think her way through this. She couldn’t push her feelings away or lock them up tight.

  Worse than the fear, she found she was transfixed by him. By all the unknown that he represented. By this wild and unyielding bend in her life’s road that she had never seen coming.

  She would have been a wife in only a month’s time, but to another man. These were mysteries that would have been answered for her soon, but she had a feeling it would have been different than what was about to transpire with Lachlan.

  But she didn’t know enough about it, enough about men to know how.

  Except she had felt the safety with the Duke that she did not feel here.

  Because Lachlan had a wildness that radiated from the very centre of all that he was.

  A wildness that stood in stark contrast to that cloistered upbringing of hers.

  He was everything that she had learned to turn away from. Everything that she had spent her life repressing. For she had learned to spend her life walking an invisible, narrow cobbled street and if she took a turn off it, it was only when she was away from the sight of her father.

  Whenever she felt an emotion that was too large, she shut it away. Whenever she had a burst of energy that would be too loud, she pushed it down.

  She had the feeling that Lachlan Bain never pushed down a thing.

  He turned then, not moving his hands to the kilt that he wore over the lower half of his body. She could see his whole chest, those broad shoulders, muscles that spoke of hard labour. A strange thing, how fascinating such a thing could be.

  A simple physical feature like muscles.

  He was a man and therefore physically stronger than she. He did labour, therefore, he had developed that strength.

  These were easy lines to draw, yet there was a response that it created inside her body that had absolutely nothing to do with these facts. It was all simple appreciation for his form that made her stomach feel warm and her limbs feel languid.